As a
child, my father helped my sister and me to build snow forts on our
farm's side yard. Then, the snow came in November and remained until
March/April. When the sun and its spring temperatures hit, our snow
forts were doomed to disappear.
My
mother had extensive gardens. I knew Spring must be imminent when
she examined her dahlia bulbs wintering-over in the cellar.
We
knew it was Spring when the snow melted and anything that had been
lost or discarded (hidden under the snowy blanket) was
revealed...even large brown masses of 'dog poop'.
The
calendar indicates that Spring arrives on March 21; however, it was
“Spring Break” in High School that reminded us that Summer was
not far behind.
I
knew it was Spring when 'snow drops' peeked through the soft snow;
then the red and yellow tulips in all their glory sprang up,
followed by our 'host of golden daffodils'.
When
school ended yearly in June, I knew it was time to be my father's
'hired farm help'...without pay. In Spring we had prepared the fields
for planting. Summer brought fresh pure scents of unpolluted air and
the clearly heard train whistles as they chugged along the rails like
a 'caravan of moving metal'.
I
knew it was Spring when College days ended...and I was off afar to
earn my fees for the ensuing semesters. They were jobs that paid me
shekels...be it 'Hostess at a Muskoka resort'...working in British
Columbia's rural mountain towns...even assisting my father at his
now gas station business.
Spring
arrived for me when we could walk woodland trails and be enthralled
with Ontario's provincial flower...the white 'trillium'
(occasionally pink). Never to pick or transplant from its habitat.
“April
showers bring forth May flowers”...a true Spring omen. Yet,
according to 'Hagar the Horrible' cartoon, he tells 'Lucky Eddie': I
love a good Spring soaking! The rain brings everything to life! I
feel like dancing too! And Eddie grumblingly states...I am NOT
dancing! I'm trying not to step on the worms the rain has brought
up!
Spring
is what I felt in my youth: Summer
would be a dip in Whiteman's Creek. Autumn,
the raking of leaves and harvesting fruits and vegetables...the
cutting of grain and corn. It was also the beginning of the school
year, whether student or teaching. Winter
meant skating on the frozen farm pond or skiing mountain slopes.
Spring...can always be renewed...starting a new cycle...
every day, every year, every month. It can be never-ending!
The
beautiful Spring came; and when Nature resumes her loveliness,
the
human soul is apt to revive also. (Harriet Ann Jacobs)
Emerging
Surprises of Spring
Paul Benedetti says it best in a published Spectator issue.
“Call
me cautious, but I just decided this week to get my snow tires off.
Until recently, I was still wearing long underwear. I have to admit
this made for some pretty warm committee meetings, but you never know
when you're going to get a late-spring cold snap and I like to be
prepared. As anyone in Canada knows, a couple of warm weekends is
like a couple good dates. Neither means you won't get dumped ~ or
dumped on.
“But
I have to admit there are some signs that tell me spring is truly
here..Yes, yes, there's the red robin hopping across your lawn
looking for worms. I can tell it's spring because the snow, melted
by the ever-warming sun, has revealed about a million cigarette butts
on my front lawn...courtesy of my son and all of his assorted pals
who smoke. These little devils are impervious to the rake and
demand closer attention. Oh, what a lovely spring tradition it has
now become for me to don my work jeans and boots and then, on my
hands and knees, hand-pick a mere 20 or 40 dozen butts out of the
lawn. I then plant them in the back garden and by the fall, I'll have
10 or 20 beautiful cigarette bushes blooming to beat the band. They
yield a good pack and a half each. Isn't nature wonderful?
“I
can tell it's spring when I walk out onto the porch on a Saturday
morning to fetch the paper in my underwear (I'm in my underwear, not
the paper) and I take a deep breath of the early spring morning air.
What I actually get is a pungent and unmistakably unpleasant nosefull
of what the French delightfully call 'Eau de Merde de Chien' (That's
Dog Poo for those of us who dropped French like a hot frying pan in
high school) that is gently carried on a light wind throughout the
neighbourhood. The aroma is the product of thousands of winter dog
deposits that owners were too tired ...too cold...or too lazy to bag
in the sub-zero temperatures. You can hide a lot of stuff under a
blanket of snow...but eventually the sins of winter are the surprises
of spring.
“I
can tell spring has arrived when I take a look at my car in the
bright light and realize that I haven't washed it in about four
months. Between the three pounds of caked-on road salt and months of
accumulated dirt and debris, the interior looks pretty bad. And you
should see the outside. I must wash it. The first day of summer
sounds like a good time for that.
“I
know Spring has come when I can once again hear the gentle tweets and
twitters and musical calls of the birds, clearly happy it's no
longer minus 30 out. Of course, that chirping gently wakes me at
about 3:45 a.m. and continues incessantly until I rage out onto the
porch in my underwear banging pots together and yelling
hysterically. Judging by the look I get from passing joggers, you'd
think they've never seen a dishevelled man armed with kitchen
utensils. People need to get out more!
“I
can tell it's spring when my neighbours, like the green leaves of my
tulips, start poking their heads out and, one after another, emerge,
smiling and greeting each other on the front lawns and sidewalks.
“When
the kids ~ and thankfully we have a lot of them around us ~ gather to
play road hockey, their shouts of 'He
scores!' or
'Carrrrrrrr!' ringing
out along the roadway. Or to shoot hoops into a net they rolled
onto the street or laughing their heads off in the fresh air without
their iPods or smart phones or head phones.
Just them...in the bright, warm sunshine of spring.
(Paul Benedetti lives in Hamilton. He teaches journalism at Western
University.)
Merle
Baird-Kerr...written April 27, 2015
No comments:
Post a Comment